Tuesday, October 19, 2004

There's nothing like having an infant scream in your ear all day to really refine any feelings of resentment you have towards your family. My impatience and rage has been honed to a razor-sharp point after 12 hours of screaming and fussing, although of course I don't say anything--I just seethe here by the computer, trying to avoid everyone in the house.

In desperation, I turned that rage outward today. Since the baby wouldn't let me put her down, I spent all afternoon calling Sinclair advertisers while pacing the house. I love this kind of slacktivism--anything that involves staying home in your PJs while making a political statement is okay with me. Bumper stickers? Hell yeah! Emails? Sure! But ask me to recycle and sadly, I seem to be incapable of it (a fact which the log cabin republicans down the street actually berated me for, if you can believe that. I wanted to say, "Look, at least I'm not a Lesbian for Bush, okay?")

Perhaps my disaffection and ennui is also caused by the fact that last night I went out with my ex-boss, a very large man, and made the mistake of trying to match him drink for drink. I always regret this the next day, but I clearly lack self-control.

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.